


Wings

by Mia_Moni



Category: South Park
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:35:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22833388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mia_Moni/pseuds/Mia_Moni
Summary: Life in hell is difficult, especially when you're Satan's son, but Pip was always there to hear Damien complain, curse at everything and everyone around him, as well as heaven and earth as they shared a cup of tea.Pip did so much for him, more than he could ever imagine.Even without wings, Pip was a true angel.At least for Damien.
Relationships: Phillip "Pip" Pirrip/Damien Thorn
Comments: 1
Kudos: 80





	Wings

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Asas](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23040112) by [Monilovely](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monilovely/pseuds/Monilovely). 



> This is a translation from one of my own previous works. 
> 
> I'm not completly fluent in english, so excuse me if anything seems wrong or out of place.
> 
> Hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

Being the son of Satan comes with a few advantages. 

Of course, there are the typical hellish duties like torturing, tearing people apart and punishing the damned souls who fall there, but it's nothing Damien can't handle. He also had his sadistic side after all.

However, if there was _one_ good thing about being the antichrist, it would have to be the powers he inherited from his father. Unlike the Devil, he had no limits to his power; he didn't need to be summoned, nor have a host to be allowed to use and abuse his powers as much as he wanted. His only real restriction was his father's insistence on repressing him when he considered killing someone before their time came; something about _‘keeping things in balance’_ or something like that.

Now that his father was dead, however, there wasn’t really anything stopping him from spreading chaos around the world. But why would he do that? It would just mean more work. Torturing souls and spreading chaos was a lot of fucking work! He barely had any time to watch TV with the routine he had, imagine if he had even _more_ things to do! 

Another Damien liked to do with his powers, besides feeding his sadistic side, was to create wings. 

Even though he could only fly over that fire-condemned kingdom, there was something good about feeling new muscles streaching his back, getting his feet off the ground, and feeling the wind blowing through his hair. 

Despite being hot wind, it was wind nonetheless.

One thing in particular he _absolutely adored_ was when Pip caressed them between his soft, warm fingers, the tips slightly chilled. It was an indescribable sensation that made all the hair on his body stand on end. 

His wings might not be a complete part of his body, but when he drowned in that sensation, it almost felt as if they had been there the whole time.

And, fuck, if that didn't excite him enough, he didn’t know what would.

He never came so close to losing control of his own body like when he felt the loving touch of his beloved sliding down the black feathers, following steadily to the last tip. 

The fact that those were completely new nerves and muscles attached to his body only made the experience of being touched there something entirely new every time Pip touched them. It never truly felt the same, and every time he summoned that pair of wings, it was a whole new experience, and the antichrist never had to worry about getting used to the touch.

Some feathers inevitably fell whenever he landed, even when he dragged them on the ground, but it was something natural. It’s not because he lived in hell that the laws of physics were ignored. Maybe a few of them? Yes. All of them? No. After all, how do you inflict pain on someone if physics doesn’t exist? Answer: you don’t.

At the end of his shift, he arrived at his home, which once belonged to his father, completely exhausted. Being the ruler of hell was no easy task. He had a bunch of deals to solve with heaven regarding the souls with debatable destinies, angry spirits trying to escape from their eternal suffering and even some angels showing up to bother him for no reason.

These people who had nothing better to do than annoy him really got on his nerves. God should’ve continued to only allow Mormons into heaven.

He slammed the door shut behind him, the noise announcing his presence. Not that Pip needed any warning to know that Damien had returned, for the antichrist, even when he didn't slam the door, would grunt and murmur in any room he got in.

“Pip.” Damien called for the blond, stretching the "i."

“In the kitchen!” he shouted back as the kettle began to whistle.

Punctual as ever, Damien always returned when tea was ready. The routine and comfort the situation brought were some of the only factors that kept him grounded, stopping his mind from losing itself due to the work-related stress. 

He may be a sadist, but that doesn’t make his job any less stressful and tiring.

He found the blond besides the kettle, already pouring the hot liquid into two teacups. Damien approached him from behind and leaned his chin on Pip’s shoulder as he crossed his arms around his thin waist, of course, taking all the care in the world to not make him spill tea on the counter.

A tender smile pulled at Pip's lips as he felt the warmth of Damien's body against his own. Naturally, Hell was incredibly hot. However, the kind of warmth that went through the Brit’s body whenever he felt the antichrist touch him was different from the warmth he felt when he went outside. It was special. Something personal the couple cherished and didn't share with anyone else, and so powerful it could keep out any other heat that could come from Hell’s fire-y atmosphere.

Except that one time Damien accidentally made Pip spontaneously combust during one of his kisses, which something much more physical than they were used to, but that's not important right now.

The blond sighed, putting the kettle aside, and raised a hand to caress the Damien’s hair. The antichrist sank his face even deeper into his shoulder, as if he wanted to drown in it.

“Rough day?” Pip quietly asked.

Having no strength to utter curses or any other verbal response, Damien only nodded and inhaled into the Brit’s neck, in an attempt to calm his nerves.

Pip bit his lips, his blue eyes staring at the boiling liquid that danced inside the porcelain dish for a second before leaning his cheek over Damien's head and kissing one of his temples.

“The tea will take a while to cool.” he pointed out, earning a curious peek from Damien’s red eyes. Pip smiled sweetly. “I could massage your wings, if you like.”

Pip knew very well how much Damien liked when he did that. He had told him several times now how his fingers did magic caressing the soft feathers, a comment that would always get him to blush, no matter how many times Damien repeated himself.

The couple left the teacups in the kitchen and moved on to the living room. Pip sat on the sofa and Damien on the floor, right by his feet.

No matter how many times Damien created that pair of beautiful wings or insisted they weren't really his, Pip was always amazed to see the way they grew on the Antichrist’s rigid back, tearing his clothes until they barely stick to his body.

However, since he was Satan's son, torn shirts weren't hard to fix. They’d only need a little stitch later.

Upon meeting with those huge appendages once again, the blond shook. Due to his size, Pip was always intimidated by the dark feathers and the way the wing’s muscles, when stretched, were two times his size. However, more than intimidating, they attracted his gaze and his curiosity like a hypnotic song. He couldn’t help stretching his hands towards the black feathers and wanting to feel the softness over his light skin.

Pip wasn’t an angel. He had no wings. He would never know what it felt like to fly and feel the wind blowing through his hair, much less the adrenaline rushing through his veins, as Damien often described the feeling whenever Pip asked how did it feel when he flew around with those magnificent wings.

Well, even if he may never know what that feeling felt like, he wasn't unhappy where he was now. Satan, whenever he came to visit his son, was very kind and considerate to him. The Antichrist’s subordinates were never anything but respectful to him, always referring to him by Phillip instead of Pip, nickname to which Damien took full possession, claiming anyone who called him so would face all his anger. 

Damien too, despite being more intense than the others and having some trouble controlling his emotions, never failed to show Pip how much he loved him. 

Since the day he came to Hell, the Antichrist metaphorically placed him under his wings and made him his protégé. Unlike the others, Pip did not suffer through torture and suffering, treatment to which all who fell there were condemned to. He lived an afterlife almost like his life was when he was back on earth - except, in Hell, he suffered no bullying or mocking. 

Damien made it very clear to all those under his command that anyone who dared messing with Pip would go through the worst torture ever imagined.

And Damien had an extremely fertile imagination, especially for torture methods.

Pip suffered a lot at the hands of his sister back in England, and also at the hands of his colleagues in South Park, he also didn’t remember anything about his parents to know how they treated him when they were alive, hell, even God himself seemed to hate him, since he did not accept him into his kingdom, even though he had never committed any sin while he was alive - as far as he could remember, at least. Ironically, he felt more loved now that he was in Hell rather than he had ever felt during his whole life. It seemed he was much more open to being himself in the place so many feared than anywhere else he had ever been, and probably would have been, if he had been sent to heaven.

His fingers traced the dark feathers as if they were something fragile, although he knew Damien's wings were incredibly resistant. He smiled when he heard a protesting noise when he removed his hand from Damien’s wing, only to return to the center. 

The conjured muscle bent perfectly on the brunette's back, as if they belonged there. Damien's magic was simply stunning and would never cease to amaze Pip, no matter how many times he used the same old tricks to impress him. 

It seemed that the more the Brit faced those wings, the more details he would find, always bringing the feeling of something new.

“Your wings are beautiful, Damien.” He praised, taking two feathers at once between his fingers.

Even with his mind clouded by that wonderful and addicting feeling, Damien could still hear his beloved's voice clearly. The sweet tone, with a slightly bitter touch at the end, left him in conflict whenever the wings came into question. 

On one hand, he was happy Pip was keeping him company in Hell, for he certainly would have gone crazy by now if it had not been for him. But on the other hand, he felt bad that Pip had been denied the right to enter heaven and had to spend eternity in the hopeless and cruel place that was Hell.

The British boy had told him several times about his desire to have wings like his, no matter if they were fake or not an actual part of Damien’s body. And although Damien had all control over his magic and could give Pip anything he wanted, he knew that it was not the same to gaining _actual_ _wings,_ like the ones those damn angels had.

His wings retracted for an instant, the fright causing the blond to take his hands away, as if he had been burned. That was not uncommon in such cases, but he liked to be cautious so that he hadn't accidentally touched some place sensitive or hurtful. The caution would specially come in handy considering Pip didn't have much knowledge of how those wings worked. He’d rather pull himself away than risk hurting his lover.

He was about to touch the feathers again, now more cautious with his hands, when Damien spoke, his voice involuntarily causing the Brit’s body to freeze.

“Pip.”

The blond leaned forward as he watched the Antichrist spread his wings, a habit he had when he was thinking of something.

“Yes?” he asked with his arms resting on his knees, the curious sparkle of his eyes making itself present.

“Are you happy here?”

Oh, it was that again.

Periodically, Damien would find a moment to ask Pip if he was happy with the way things were going down in Hell, as if he was afraid he would get up from his bed someday don’t find Pip laying beside him.

Pip opened a loving smile and pulled his boyfriend's cheek with the palm of his hand for a kiss, his gesture quick and happily returned.

As quickly as they appeared, the wings dissipated from the Antichrist’s back. Damien adjusted his posture to hold the British more securely in his arms, his fingers clinging to his clothes as if his life depended on it.

As their lips parted, Pip kept his hands on Damien's cheeks and gently pressed his forehead against his, feeling the Antichrist's unbridled breath on his lips.

“I'm happier here than I could be anywhere else.” He trimmed his fingers to Damien’s hair and stroked the short black threads at the back of his neck. “I love you, Damien. More than anything.”

Damien’s crimson eyes closed as his heart absorbed the blond's caresses over his pale skin.

“I love you too, my angel.”

He quickly locked his lips with Pip's before he could say anything back, his love manifesting through his actions and the touches that ran through the fragile spirit resting beneath his wings.

The blond crossed his legs around the Antichrist’s waist once he lifted him up from the sofa. He carried him as if Pip was made of feathers, and fit him perfectly around his arms.

Ocean eyes found fierce red eyes and both Pip and Damien exchanged satisfied and passionate smiles.

“Let's go to the kitchen. The goddamn tea must be cold by now.” ordered Damien still with the smile implanted on his lips.

Pip nodded, containing a laugh between his teeth. The swearing was a good sign, it meant the melancholy was over and the Damien he knew and loved had finally returned.

Pip gasped when Damien threw him in the air and held him bridal style. The Brit kept a trying grip into his neck, ignoring the way Damien laughed at him for the sudden noise.

Damien carried Pip down the long corridors of his house with a satisfied smile on his face.

There weren't enough words to describe how he felt about that British boy. Pip messed with his emotions in a way that frustrated him so much he couldn’t help but fall even deeper in love with him. Whenever he faced those twinkling blue orbits and perfect smile that crossed innocent lips, Damien couldn’t help but melt.

Life in hell is difficult, especially when you're Satan's son, but Pip was always there to hear Damien complain, curse at everything and everyone around him, as well as heaven and earth as they shared a cup of tea.

Pip did so much for him, more than he could ever imagine.

Even without wings, Pip was a true angel. 

At least for Damien.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Comments and kudos are really appreciated!


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